20

Pakistan, wait for me

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

F
By Ruchhita Kazaria

An Aman ki
Asha traveller
from Kolkata
chances upon
the road to the
country she
dreams of
visiting

ascinated by the
'travel to Rann of
Kutch'
adverts
flooding my email
inbox, I decided to
take the plunge
and head to where
my heart was calling. Along with my
close friend Saira Shah Halim
and her family, our party of
six (including a nanny) began
our nine-day trip in Bhuj, on
the Rann of Kutch.
The iced salt of the marsh
glistened in our eyes as we
walked through it on December 31, and planned ahead for
2015, sharing our dreams.
The first thought cloud to
blink before my eyes was
"Pakistan" -- a country where
I feel my soul rests.
Thinking about the possibilities, I began planning with
Saira. To our surprise, her
husband Dr. Fuad Halim introduced us to the "India
Bridge" from where we could
feel closer to our dream destination.
We learnt that the India
Bridge in Kutch, Gujarat, is
an outpost of India's Border
Security Forces (BSF). We
headed there the very next
day, after obtaining a special
permit that is required to
enter the area. In between the
territories of India and Pakistan, looms the No-Man's
Land which is wilderness.
One can travel up to the culvert bridge that separates Sir
Creek and the India's 'last
post'.
We were soon exchanging
notes with the BSF jawaans
who seemed delighted to
trade tales with their unexpected visitors. Photography
is strictly prohibited but I was
allowed to take a couple of
photos, including one a little
before the bridge past which
one could see the pristine white salt desert.
With the aid of binoculars one can see Sir
Creek and spot the
local fishermen from
both India and Pakistan who fish there
under surveillance.
What ensued was an hour
of deep spiritual connect involving the virtual other side.
Tales mingled with tears began
pouring out, more from their

B R I E F S

Stop ceasefire
violations,
urge youth

someone from the other side."

Temples dot the area,
adding to the charm of the
mystical, ancient land.
Nearby, we chanced upon
one dedicated to Karni Mata.
I could hear the evening aarti
being hummed spiritedly.
Making my way to the
mandir, I found that the devotees were BSF jaawans. I sat
down with and broke into the
"Om Jai Jagdish Hare" bhajan along with them.
As they distributed the
prasad, I smiled and found
myself asking for tea. Sipping
hot tea in the freezing arid re-

The jawaans told

us how, despite the
desert and
wilderness, they
manage to harvest
flowers of love and
respect between
their counterparts
across the border
A temple at Dholavira: Pakistan is barely 48 km from this historic site. Photos by the writer.
hearts and less from their lips.
Over a cup of hot tea, they narrated how they patrol together
with the Pakistanis at NoMan's Land.
They told tales about how
they distribute mithai
(sweetmeats) from across
both sides and share savories. Of how they smile together and even wipe each
other's tears depending on
the occasion. They told us
how, despite and in spite of
the desert and wilderness,
they manage to harvest flowers of love and respect between them.
"Sookha pada hai yahan
madam ji, par pyaar ki
kami nahin," said jawan -it's a drought-struck area
here, madam, but there's no
dearth of love.
The discussion choked us
all up, and we bid each other
adieu with tears in our eyes.
They saluted with their characteristic "Jai Hind".

n Indo-Pak youth group has initiated

a signature campaign urging the governments of both countries to end
ceasefire violations and initiate peace
talks.Aaghaz-e-Dosti (Start of Friendship),
started by The Catalyst, Pakistan and Mission Bhartiyam, India, raise "concerns regarding the reports of ceasefire violations
along Indo-Pak border that have increased
in recent days and have claimed many precious lives of innocent citizens and soldiers
on both sides."
Addressing the prime ministers of both
countries in an online petition, the Aaghaze-Dosti convenors, Devika Mittal and Aliya
Harir, want an immediate end to ceasefire
violations, and initiation of talks between
senior armed forces officials and at the government levels. The youth group also demands a resumption of the Indo-Pak
Friendship Bus service. The petition is online at: http://chn.ge/1AU5fFV

he next day, we
were
off
to
Dholavira, 250 km
from Bhuj. This is
an archaeological
site at Khadirbet, Kutch,
where ruins of the ancient
Indus Valley Civilization have
been excavated. Dholavira is
one of the five largest Harappan sites and the most prominent archaeological site in
India from the Indus Valley
Civilization. The other great
sites of the period are in Pakistan.
After soaking in the ancient ghost town that was inhabited some 5000 years ago,
we headed to our guesthouse
in Toran, a State Government
initiative.
From there, we drove up
to the Rann of Kutch. As we
walked along the salt desert,

the setting sun began to cast

a bewitching spell upon us.
"Pakistan is closest from
here Madamji," chuckled our
guide, well aware of my undying love for our neighbouring
country. As my eyes widened,
, he smiled and added, "Only
16 gaavs from here" (1 gaav =
3 km).
Hugging Saira in delight, I
probed for more details.
Pakistan is barely 48 km

from Dholavira. I was told

that after dark, lights from
Pakistan brighten the horizon. How lovely! Locals know
the cross-border shortcuts
that abound the arid wastelands but there is heavy patrolling by the BSF sentries,
their smiles notwithstanding.
"There are a lot of ways to
cross over, but don't even try
it," warned our guide. "The
BSF will mistake you for

The last point photos were allowed: before the bridge and the pristine white salt desert

The writer is a former

journalist with The Asian
Age and Times of India. She
lives in Kolkata. Email:
info@aarcee.co.in

Ghosts of the past

Pakistan travels-2

on Murree Road, opposite the Holy

Family Hospital but could not find it in
the dark.
By now we had already decided to
miss the Lahore match as we were
more interested in seeing some more
places that we had lost due to Partition. On our fourth day in Pakistan
Mrs. Ahmed packed some fruit, cold
By Yash Pal Sethi
drinks and cookies and Ahmed took us
to Taxila Museum, Mughal Garden at
Visiting Murree after so many decades I found it had lost
fter visiting my ancestral
Wah and Panja Sahib.
home in Rawalpindi, we
I had visited Panja Sahib thrice as a
its
past
luster.
Even
so
I
felt
that
I
was
still
its
child
...
went to Bohar Mohalla via
child. Visiting it again reminded me of
Ganga Rad di Gali. A large,
There were two recreation spots at
a foolish adventure when I was about
ancient banyan tree that
either end of the Mall Road -- Kashmir
eleven years old, studying in class six
used to be there has since been upPoint where we would go to picnic
at Rawalpindi. I was asked to accomrooted. Moti Bazaar was mainly for
under the groves, and Pindi Point, a
pany my relatives to Panja Sahib but
ladies now. I saw some signboards in
favourite for evening walks. In the
though I wanted to go, as an immature
Urdu (which I could of course read)
evenings there used to be a great rush
boy, I refused. I thought that they
warning: "Khatoon jeb-katro se bach ke
on the Mall Road. The long well
would insist on my going, but they left
raho" (Beware of women pickpockcleaned broad stairs at GPO and GPO
without me, putting an eight anna (half
ets).
at Pindi Point were resting places after
rupee) coin in my palm.
As we returned to Raja Bazaar via
the walk. They had lost their glory.
After they left, I told my mother
Kabari Bazaar, a jeep halted and the
After parking the car we went to
that I wanted to go with them and ran
driver asked me "Urdu Bazaar kithey
the lower Bazaar (now known as
to catch up with them. But by the time
ey"? I guided him easily. Ahmed was
lower Mall). This used to be the main
I reached the station the train had left.
astonished that I could tell the way to a
shopping centre for Indians. We lived
I should have returned home but in my
place he had not taken us to so far.
on the first floor, in the centre of the
foolishness, I marched toward Hassan
The next day, Ahmed's nephew
bazaar. It was a holiday and the bazaar
Abdal (Panja Sahib) on the railway
drove us to Koh-Murree. It took a little
was closed. I took my son and
track.
Government Primary School, Murree: now Allama Iqbal Model Primary School
less than two hours, going straight up
Ahmed's nephew straight to our buildJust before
to Mall Road near the General Post Ofing. There was a footpath shop near
the street five stories below.
hawkers were
the next stafice. During British times, no vehicles
the stairs of our residence.
I had started my schooling in 1935selling small gift
tion two shepwere allowed beyond the bus-stand.
The shopkeeper overheard me ex36 at Government Primary School,
items by the
herds stopped
The few private vehicles then had to
plaining the plan of the building to my
Murree, now known as Allama Iqbal
roadside. I told
me, threatenpark at before the town boundary. The
son. It is in the same condition, he said,
Model Primary School. I wanted to
my son how
ing to kill me
Bus Stand had been moved elsewhere
adding that our building was still
take my son there. I remembered crysometimes we
as a 'Kafir'
too. Mri as we used to call it was a canknown as "lohey walia di building"
ing because I did not want to go. It
used to walk or
(non-Mustonment area and a British battalion
(building of the steel guys). The resiwas about a mile down the road but
hire a pony to go
lim).
I
used to be stationed here. There were
dence appeared disused. I showed my
my son seemed tired or not very interaround
the
begged for
big stores, restaurants and ballrooms
son the back of the building with its
ested so I dropped the idea, something
hillock, and rest
my life and
on the Mall Road for the British rulers.
broad adjoining stairs connecting to
I still regret.
at the stairs of the
lied
that
a
er er
I took them down to the lower
Post Office. A little Old Rawalpindi station: anoth
some relabazaar to pick up the Link Road for
further the road
tive had died. Ultimately they spared
Mall Road, from where we walked to
curved around the hillock. This was
me and let me go. The next station was
Pindi Point. On the left there were
the actual the Pindi Point from where
Golra and I decided to stay there and
Defense offices and on the right, old
at night we could see the twinkling
catch the evening train back as the inbungalows. I remembered an incilights of Rawalpindi. There was a new
cident had shaken my courage and
dent one Sunday long ago. I was
ropeway that our host took to get
boldness.
strolling alone on the Mall and
down and come back.
(To be continued)
passed a bungalow opposite this
Visiting Murree after so many
spot. I plucked a peach hanging over
decades I found it had lost its past lusThe writer is a retired banker
the fence and a young English girl
ter. Even so I felt that I was still 'its
born in Rawalpindi in 1931. He
shouted at me in a furious voice.
child' unmindful of the realities that it
studied in Murree, Malakwal and at
Throwing the peach, I had run home
was now in another country.
DAV High School, Rawalpindi. He
breathlessly, fearing that I was being
Before dusk we were back in Pindi.
lives in Yamuna Nagar (Haryana),
chased.
Our hosts took us on a round of IslamIndia. This three part series is
Since it was just afternoon, there
abad, Gordon College and Murree
adapted from his posts to the Aman
was no rush at Pindi Point. A few
Road. I tried to find my School (DAV)
ki Asha Facebook group.
The primary school in Murree: memories

Cross-border firing: Villagers on both sides are affected.

File photo text

Wish List: To be able to

go up to Sir Creek and talk to
the fishermen clan.

gion, our talk turned to their

Pakistani counterparts.
"Badhey achhey log hai
woh hamari tarah hi hai,"
one of them said -- the Pakistani's are very nice people just like us.
I smiled at the warmth in
his tone. Catching my smile
he asked "Aapke koi Pakistani dost hain?" (Do you
have any friends from across
the border?).
When I nodded, it was
their turn to smile and probe

further, "Rishtedaar bhi

hai?" (Do you even have relatives that side?).
Breaking into a wide grin,
I replied; "Dost they ab
rishtedaar jaisey hi ban
gaye hai" (They were friends
and now are more like relatives).
As I told them about
Aman ki Asha, they held onto
each word. Then one young
sentry spoke up, narrating
how his leave had got cancelled even though his wife
had just delivered. He said he
had shared the grief mingled
with joy with jawaans from
the other side, and talked
about how they gave duas
(prayers/blessings) for the
baby. They also cautioned
him against letting his child
join the BSF.
"Usko insaan rehne dena.
Aam insaan. Wardi wala
mat banana. Kehna, tourist
ki tarah Pakistan aaye
Hum uski raah dekhenge".
(Let him remain a human
being, an ordinary civilian.
Don't make him a uniformed
man. Ask him to visit us like
a tourist, we will wait for
him).
Feeling quite choked up, I
blinked away my tears and
saluted them before walking
away. The moon was up, casting a soft light on the wild
horses and donkeys sauntering across the wastelands.
Overall, this was a most
soulful vacation because we
were so near, and yet so far,
from my dream destination
Pakistan. I had heard of
mammoth weather balloons
(hot air balloons) at the Rann
of Kutch festival. How I
longed to hop onto one of
them and just fly away, into
the country where as I mentioned, my soul rests! I hope
destiny is kinder in 2015 and
I get an opportunity to visit
Pakistan.
Wish List: To don my
pink sneakers and sprint the
50 kilometers distance. Pakistan, wait for me I have
found the road that leads to
you!

THE FIRST STEP

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